


Welcome to Derry

by websters_lieb



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Horror, Multi, aged up fic, because I can and nobody can stop me, but I'm doing it anyway, character oriented, college fic, the "they all get together in college to fight it" AU that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/websters_lieb/pseuds/websters_lieb
Summary: Seven teenagers find themselves in the college town of Derry, either to live or to study at the nearby university.Children are going missing.





	1. Chapter 1

Stanley Uris arrives on campus promptly at 8:30 AM on move-in day. His clothes and books are organized neatly into two economically-sized suitcases. His kippah is affixed to his head with two expertly placed clips. His father helps him to move his bags up to his room but stops before entering and simply offers Stan a handshake and a “study hard” before he’s walking back down the hallway and gone from Stan’s life for the next few months. Stan gazes at his receding figure for a second, wondering if he’s glad for his father’s absence or if he wishes the man would have stuck around for just a minute or two more, before he carefully pushed his worries aside and focuses on the task ahead.

He opens the door, awkwardly pulling both bags in while he keeps the door open with his shoulder. The room is sparse, with clunky wooden furniture arranged in mirror image on either side of the room. Two desks sit against opposite walls, with two chairs placed in front of them. Two beds are arranged next to the desks, with two dressers sitting uniformly behind the beds. There are a few feet of walking space between the beds, and a central AC unit is built into the back wall, against the windows.

The only difference between the nearly identical sides of the room is in the beds. One sits at waist height, with enough space underneath to store a footlocker, but the other one is lofted a good five feet into the air. Since Stan didn’t check the “lofted bed” option when finalizing his housing contract, he lifts his suitcases up onto the lower bed and starts placing his things on the corresponding side of the room.

It doesn’t take him long to unpack. He didn’t bring much, his first bag was mostly clothes, and half of the second was filled with books and study-organizers. He arranges the books neatly in alphabetical order on the back of the desk, placing monogrammed bookends on either side to keep them from toppling off the edges. He brought no posters for his walls, but one of the doors on his wardrobe is lined with cork, and he pins up a diagram of the anatomy of the Galápagos Finch. When he’s finished, he looks around the room for a minute, smiling slightly at the neatness of it, and then he sits on his bed and pulls his laptop out from his backpack. He figures that he can probably memorize the map of campus before the end of the day if he starts now. He settles back against the wall and pulls up the school’s webpage, feeling entirely at peace.

And then his roommate arrives.

- 

Richie Tozier is not a morning person. In fact, he would rather pretend that mornings don't exist, thank you very much, and refuses to wake up before noon unless forcibly manhandled out of bed. Unfortunately for him, Bill Denbrough has absolutely no hesitation when it comes to grabbing Richie by his skinny ankles and pulling him out of his blankets and directly onto the floor. Richie has tried sleeping nude, to see if that might deter his friend, but that had only resulted in Bill taking a rather embarrassing picture of Richie curled up on the floor, ass naked, with his arms wrapped around his head. Richie sleeps with clothes on now, and Bill gets his way when it comes to mornings.

Which explains how Richie, notorious late sleeper that he is, ends up in Ben’s car at 6 in the goddamn morning, laid out across the back seats and trying to take a nap. Bill’s shitty old rustbucket, however, has shitty suspension and the bumps they hit on the road keep on knocking Richie down onto the floor, which is not helping his “please for the love of god let me just get five more minutes of sleep” plan.

Bill and Richie have been friends for as long as either of them can remember, which is for the best because they're so different that they would never have become friends if they had met later in life. Bill is quiet and sweet. He speaks with a stutter, but still manages to channel force and purpose into everything he says. He loves his family, does well in school, and is kind to everyone he meets. Richie, on the other hand, is a human disaster.

He has a dark sense of humor and an innate inability to shut his mouth. He does well at school, but spent almost every Saturday of his high school career in detention. He's loyal to a point, but had no one to be loyal to until Bill came around. His parents were gone more often than not, and they usually ignored him when they were home. Once, when she was drunk, his mother had told him that she wished she hadn’t had him, that she had a different child. He was a heartbroken boy, and Bill gave him someone he could hold on to.

So when Richie applied to Derry University, Bill followed him, saying that Richie would burn the school down without Bill there to tell him when enough was enough. When Richie decided to get a room in Neibolt house, Bill followed him there too. When it came to a roommate, they both agreed that rooming together would result in a quick and brutal murder/suicide, but they had scored rooms on the same floor, just down the hall from each other.

Bill decided to stay by Richie’s side through college, so when he shows up at Richie’s house at the asscrack of dawn ( _I-It’s not even that early, Ruh-Rich, the sun’s been up for an hour - eat my ass Bill_ ), Richie only complains a little bit, and gets into his friend’s car willingly. As they make it into the third hour of their road trip, however, Richie’s patience wears thin.

“Hey, Bill,” Richie says, sitting up properly in the backseat and leaning forward against Bill’s chair.

“What, Richie,” Bill replies, sighing.

“I was just wondering if it was physically possible for you to drive any fucking slower.” Richie kicks the back of Bill’s chair as he speaks.

Bill throws Richie a glare over his shoulder. “I’m g-going the speed limit.”

“Yeah, on the highway. Nobody goes the speed limit on the highway, it’s an unspoken rule.” Richie says, leaning back into the seat. “Fifteen over, Big Bill, fifteen over. You’re getting passed in the right lane, and I swear if I have to spend another goddamn minute in this car while we rumble along at the pace of a turtle who has given up on life, I will start singing. And neither of us want that to happen, Bill. I don’t want to do it, and you don’t want to hear it.”

“If you start singing, I w-will leave you on the side of the road and let you w-walk the next ten miles to Derry,” Bill says, turning on his right turn signal.

“That’s not true, and we both know it,” Richie says as Bill maneuvered onto the exit ramp. Bill glances in the rearview mirror - checking for other cars - and then slams on the breaks, causing Richie to crash into the seat in front of him. Richie, whose glasses have fallen off of his face, claws his way back into a sitting position, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing.

-

The boy who walks through the door had wire-rimmed glasses with ridiculously thick lenses. He's tall, with lanky arms and legs, and his hair falls down to his ears in messy curls. His jeans are ripped and stained, and his shirt reads “FUCK OFF.” Stan hates him on sight.

Before Stan can process the new addition to his room, a voice sounds in the hallway “Give me a hand, Richie! I’m not in charge of your shit.” and the boy - Richie - shoots Stan a quick grin and darts back into the hallway, leaving a duffel bag on the floor in the middle of the room. Stan blinks a couple times, staring sadly down at his laptop - the map of Derry University still open on the screen - before closing it and standing up, determined to be a good roommate, even if his roommate turned out to be filthy and profane.

There's another boy in the hallway, taller even than Richie. His hair is cut short on the sides, with the top falling into his eyes artfully. He wears clean-cut clothes, just a t-shirt and jeans, but he looks good in them. His eyes are blue, and narrowed down at Richie, who's jabbering on about something related to highways and the speed limit. Stan suddenly feels an awful lot better about his roommate. At least the talkative boy gives Stan a reason to associate with his friend.

Stan steps forward to offer his assistance, but Richie glances up at him, and his eyes catch on Stan’s head. “Are you Jewish? Or, like, a super religious Christian? Or some shit like that?” he asks, and his friend’s face flushes a bit.

“Beep beep, Richie.” He says. Stan didn’t have the faintest clue what it means, but Richie turns to defend himself to his friend.

“It’s not rude to ask if someone is religious, Bill” Bill, the friend’s name was Bill. Stan slotted this information away for later use. Richie's still talking. “What if he’s super religious and he goes all ‘Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’ on me. I’ve gotta mentally prepare myself.” Richie glances over at Stan, then, and adds. “I’m super gay, by the way. As in, I like boys, and only boys, and I will continue liking boys. I will probably kiss boys in front of you, and there is a distinct possibility I will bring a boy home, or go home with a boy. I don’t know exactly, but whatever happens, and wherever it’s happening, and whenever it’s happening, it will be with a boy.”

When Richie stops talking, Stan stares at him for a second, and ‘Bill’ lowers his face into his hand, shaking his head. Then Stan breaks out into his stupidest laugh, the one when he shorts a little every time he exhales. And then Richie starts laughing too, and Bill whacks Richie on the head, and he's laughing too, and it was ridiculous, because his roommate is “super gay” and his roommate’s friend is an adorable giant and this is Stan’s life now, and he isn't quite sure of what to make of it.

When he finally pieces himself back together, he looks at Richie and said, “That seriously won’t be a problem.” He realizes he still hadn’t even introduced himself, and then he realizes that Richie hasn't introduced himself either, and the first two things he had said to Stan were asking him if he was a Jew and then coming out to him, so he sticks his hand out and adds, “I’m Stan, by the way, and yes, I’m Jewish. No, I don’t eat Kosher all the time. Yes, I can turn the lights on and off on Saturday. No, I don’t want to be a lawyer. Oh, and the cap is called a kippah. Anything else?”

“Oh!” Richie exclaims, grabbing Stan’s hand and shaking it briskly, “What’s the right way to spell Hanukkah? With a C or with an H?”

Bill slaps Richie in the head again.

Stan thinks everything might just turn out okay.

-

Eddie Kaspbrak almost doesn't go to college.

He had applied early, and gotten his acceptance letter back in December, and had finalized his acceptance by the end of that month. Everything was on track, until a month before school began when he got the flu, and his mother had a freak out to top all freak outs. She had taken him to the ER twice, and had decided that he was simply too fragile to go so far away to school, it took everything Eddie had to convince her to let him attend, and she had still insisted on meeting with one of the school doctor’s before class started in order to explain Eddie’s “situation.”

Now, with his mother gone and his room moved into, Eddie feels freer than he's ever been in his life. H's worked hard for this, he's fought for this, and now here he is, his whole future in front of him and nobody there to tell him what he can and can not do. He puts on his fanny pack and leaves his room, feeling ready for anything. He makes it halfway down the hallway before he quite literally walks into someone.

Eddie stumbles, and almost falls face first on the floor, but a strong arm reaches out and steadies him. The boy that he had walked into is taller than Eddie, but that isn't saying much. He's well built, stocky, but muscular. He's wearing a band t-shirt, and he smiles warmly at Eddie.

“Careful there,” the boy says, “Don’t want to end up breaking something on your first day of school." 

No, Eddie does not, he's certain that if he manages to break a bone before school even begins, his mother will take him home at gunpoint. “Yeah, definitely,” he says, smiling at the boy. “Thanks for keeping me in one piece, I’m Eddie.”

“Ben,” the boy says, reaching out to shake Eddie’s hand. The boy doesn't look particularly dirty, and Eddie has hand sanitizer in his fanny pack, so he takes Ben’s hand and shakes it firmly, once, and then withdraws.

“Do you live on this floor?” Eddie asks, retrieving his hand sanitizer and popping the lid off the top.

“No, I’m on the one above this” Ben says, “But I wanted to wander a bit, figure out where everything is.”

“Me too,” Says Eddie, “But I haven’t made it very far yet, my room is just down the hall.”

“Well, might as well explore together.” Ben muses, “Safety in numbers, and all that”

 Eddie grins. “That sounds like a great idea.”

-

Beverly Marsh is a free woman.

She had been free in spirit her whole life, but now, sitting in her very own dorm room at college, her father hundreds of miles away, she feels free in every sense of the word. She doesn't know what had drawn her to Derry. She had never been one for small towns. She prefers the bustle of a big city. When she envisions her future, it's in New York or Chicago, her walking down the road, skyscrapers on either side of her, nowhere to go but up.

 But something about Derry had caught at her, slipped into the recesses of her mind and stuck at her for months until she finally decided she would study here. She would get her degree in fashion design out here in this small town, and then go make it big in a city. She's young, after all, she still has time.

 -

Mike Hanlon is hauling bags of horse feed into the back of his beat-up pickup truck when he sees it.

A single balloon floats down the street.

When it passes a lamp post, it pops.

Liquid splashes out from where the balloon had been.

It covers the missing person posters stapled to the post, inking the smiling faces of children with blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some gore and disturbing imagery in this chapter, not too much, but a bit. Just an FYI.

When Eddie meets Richie Tozier, it only takes him five minutes destroy everything Eddie has ever believed.

When Eddie got back from his adventures with Ben, it was to find his roommate, a boy named Bill, making his bed. Eddie and Bill hit it off immediately, and Eddie was just on his way to thinking that he could end up actually having college friends when Richie burst into the room unannounced.

The door had been locked.

Either this boy had a key, or he had picked the damn lock.

Eddie wasn’t sure which idea made him more uncomfortable.

Richie is infuriating, and rude, and makes about seven “your mom” jokes before he even learns Eddie’s name, and then he nicknames him “Eddie Spaghetti” and Eddie hates him so much he could scream.

But then Richie laughs and his whole face lights up and it just might be the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever seen.

And then Richie spits a wad of gum into his hand and tries to rub it into Bill’s hair and it just might be the most disgusting thing Eddie has ever seen.

Eddie likes clear lines. He likes black and white. Clean and dirty. Good and bad. Richie is playing hopscotch with those lines, and it’s driving Eddie insane.

The only thing Eddie knows for sure is that Richie is sure to be a real pain in the ass.

-

Bill is having a great first week.

He’s got his stupid best friend, who he loves even though Richie is quite literally the worst, and he’s well on his way to having two more great friends. Eddie is a bit finicky, and he has sanitized the room three times in the past two days, but he’s also fun to talk to, and Richie’s all but latched onto the poor kid, so Bill figures Eddie is going to be a permanent figure in his life for the foreseeable future.

And then there’s Stan.

Stan is smart, and sweet, and he’s got a wicked sense of humor once he lets himself relax a bit. He’s got a fascination with birds. He went will Bill to get coffee, the day after they moved in, and he could name every bird they saw. He’s interesting, and Bill sometimes feels like he could spend days just talking to Stan.

He wants to touch Stan’s curls.

He wants to make Stan laugh, and watch his lips curve upwards.

He wants to kiss those lips.

But he’s not sure if Stan even likes boys, and even if he did, he’s not sure if Stan would like him, or if Stan is even interested in a relationship this early in the school year. Stan seems like the type that likes order, and Bill doesn’t want mess anything up for Stan because the guy is sweet and kind and easy to talk to. And so what if Bill considers what having more with Stan might be like, he barely knows the guy, he’s allowed to fantasize a bit.

He just wants to keep Stan around, and he’s perfectly okay with being Stan’s friend.

-

 Ben is late.

He’s supposed to meet up with Eddie and some of Eddie’s friends. They’re going to get pizza, which sounds great because the cafeteria food at school is terrible, and pizza places usually have good salads too. The soggy lettuce at the salad bar in the cafeteria has all but driven him to tears this week.

He lengthens his stride and looks down at his phone to check the time. As he starts to walk into the street, someone grabs his arm, and he looks up. Two things register. 1) the light is red, he was about to walk into traffic. 2) he is face to face with the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

She’s got chin-length red hair, and she’s wearing ripped overalls. Her shirt is stained with paint. Her smile is crooked. He thinks he’s in love.

She speaks, “I know that college is stressful, but maybe wait until class starts to attempt death-by-automobile”

He blushes, “No, I-” He cuts off, unsure of what to say. “I just, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I know,” She responds, her smile soft and kind and just a little bit amused, she nods down at his phone. “Texting while walking is dangerous, you know.” 

“I do now,” He responds, blushing, “Thanks for keeping me from, well, death-by-automobile.”

“Anytime,” She says, her smile hypnotizing. And then the light changes. She waves, and begins to walk away.

“Wait!” He calls out, not knowing what to say, even as jogs up to match her pace. “I’m Ben.” 

“Beverly,” She responds. They finish crossing the street. She takes his hand.

He thinks she’s shaking his hand wrong until he realizes she’s grabbed a pen from one of her pockets and she’s scrawling an email address on his arm.

“It was nice to meet you, Ben,” She says.

And then she’s gone.

“You too,” He says to no one.

- 

Richie is pacing the length of the room.

Bill’s roommate’s friend is late, and Richie wants some goddamn pizza. Derry doesn’t have the same local joint that Richie and Bill have been going to for forever, but he’s heard good things about this place (apparently it’s incredibly greasy, with cheap prices and all you can eat cheese fries on Thursdays) and he wants to get to the goddamn pizza joint.

Bill’s roommate’s friend - his name is Ben, but until Richie gets some goddamn pizza he is not on a first name basis with this man - arrives twenty minutes after they arranged to meet, and Richie doesn’t wait for everyone to greet him before he says, “Fucking finally, can we go eat disgusting pizza now? That’s all I’ve been asking for. 

“Repeatedly, for the last half hour,” Bill’s cute roommate Eddie says. 

Richie could be nice and gentlemanly and woo the boy with his charms, but Richie has always valued humor over charms, so instead, he says “It’s not the only thing I’ve been doing repeatedly for the last half hour. I’ve also been doing your mother.”

“That wasn’t funny the first time you said it and it’s still not funny now,” Eddie says, scowling.

“I disagree, I think it’s increasing in funny-ness every time I say it,” Richie responds, and then wiggles his eyebrows, “I think I should say it again, and again, and again. Just like how I fuck your mother.”

“That one wasn’t even good” Eddie comments.

“Beggars can’t be choosers” Richie replies, and Eddie shoots him a disgusted expression.

“Trust me, nobody is begging you for anything”

Richie smiles as he responds, “Except your mother.” And really, Eddie should have seen that one coming, but apparently he didn’t so Richie gets to enjoy watching his face wrinkle in what he hopes is a mixture of amusement and scorn. He’s decided that is his favorite emotion combination he’s seen Eddie display so far. 

“Why are you like this” Eddie asks, sounding legitimately curious.

Richie shrugs, “Because I’m awesome.”

“That’s just incorrect” Eddie quips, and Richie opens his mouth to respond, but Bill beats him to the punch.

“So who wants pizza!” He says with false cheer, and Richie’s thoughts quickly spiral back into pizza-lust and away from mom-jokes-lust.

“To Pizza” Richie shouts, using his totally awesome British-Man accent, and jumping at Bill’s Roommate’s Friend, hitching his legs around the boy’s waist and his arms around his neck. Richie is probably a couple inches taller than Ben, but he’s wiry where Ben is stocky, and Ben has no trouble holding him up.

To Ben’s credit, he goes with it, walking forward easily, and even stooping over a little bit when they get to the door to make sure Richie doesn’t hit his head. Richie decides then and there that Bill’s roommate’s friend is alright, and that he has earned first name status. 

-

The pizza is, in fact, disgusting.

Richie loves it.

Eddie throws up.

Ben gets a salad.

-

Mike sits in the public library, his nose buried in a “History of Derry” book.

Before Derry became a college town. Before Derry was founded. Before Derry was Derry, the land belonged to the people. People passed through Derry, grew corn on its fertile land, they thrived, and then they disappeared. It happens again and again, more times than can accurately be assumed by historians. Tribes of people settled in Derry, and they all disappeared.

It is unknown how many groups were lost to the curse of Derry, but the first group was the stuff of legend. They were a thriving community, but one year, the rain stopped, the land hardened, and nothing grew.

  
The people went hungry. They turned on each other. And then they disappeared. All of them vanished, never to be seen again. Except one. In the stories, one remained. They don’t say if it was a male or a female, a child or an adult. They talk about how it feasted on the flesh of its brothers and sisters, how it rose up stronger, but terrible. They talk about how it could change its form, make itself into anything. They spoke of how it was born human but made itself into something more than human, less than human, inhuman. 

The legends spoke of it.

-

Classes start.

Ben sees Beverly in the courtyard, sometimes.

He sends her an email with a haiku that made him think of her.

When he waves, she smiles back at him.

Everything is fine.

-

Bill is walking back from a late night at the library when he hears the scream.

It’s Georgie. He knows that voice, knows it better than he knows anything else. That is the sound of Georgie screaming, and it’s wrong, all wrong.

First of all, because Georgie should not be here, he should be back home, with their parents, a week into his first year of high school. Second of all, because Georgie being in danger is such a foreign concept to Bill. Bill has always been his younger brother’s protector. Be it from bees, asshole kids, or Georgie’s own nightmares, Bill has been there as often - if not more often - than their parents. He’s Georgie’s protector, and all he can think of right now is that Georgie is in danger in Bill isn’t there to help.

He runs.

The screaming seems to be echoing, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and it keeps on getting louder and louder, more and more urgent, calling out Bill’s name now, screaming for help. Screaming, screaming, screaming.

“I’m coming!” Bill shouts, “Georgie! I’m coming! Just hold on!”

But Bill is not coming, because he can’t find Georgie.

The screaming stops.

Bill finds Georgie.

He’s lying in a pool of his own blood, his blond curls stained red where they rest on the cement. His chest has been opened by a vicious slash, and blood bubbles out. His arm is gone, it’s just gone. Bill runs to him.

 _Compression_ , he thinks, pushing his hands down on Georgie’s chest, soaking his fingers in red hot blood. But Georgie’s arm is gone and he needs to put compression there, too, so he rips off his sweater and tries to stuff it against the stump of Georgie’s arm, while still leaning half his weight against his brother’s mauled chest.

And Georgie speaks.

“You left me,” he says, “You let them hurt me,” he says, “You let me die." 

He grabs onto Bill’s arm.

“Poor Georgie has gone to heaven now,” Georgie says, but that’s not Georgie’s voice, it’s high and playful and sinister and incredibly _wrong_.

Something grabs onto Bill’s neck. He looks down. Georgie has two arms again, two whole arms, but Georgie isn’t Georgie anymore, his legs are growing longer and his hair is thinning and turning red, really red now. His face gets paler and paler until it’s chalky white, almost clown-like, but horrific, with fanged teeth and nails like talons. The blood stays on Bill’s hands and all down Not-Georgie’s front. It contrasts with the white of Not-Georgie’s face, and Bill is fascinated by it until the hand around his neck squeezes.

Bill screams.

He tries to break free but the thing that’s not Georgie, whatever it is, has a firm grip, and it’s thumb presses against his Adam's apple. It stands and hauls Bill off the floor by the neck. He grapples for purchase on the thing's arms, his fingers still sticky with Georgie’s blood. No, not Georgie’s blood, that thing wasn’t Georgie. It wasn’t Georgie. It wasn’t Georgie. 

Georgie’s screaming starts again. The thing laughs. Bill’s vision goes dark.

He kicks spastically, and his foot connects with something, and he guesses he must have hit the thing because suddenly he’s falling to the ground. He twists his ankle when he lands, but he doesn’t stop to check the damage. He gathers his feet beneath him and runs, runs, runs.

He runs until his lungs ache and his ankle screams and he can’t hear the screaming anymore. And then he sits down, and he cries. He picks up his phone and calls his mom because he needs to know, needs to know what’s real, and what’s fake. Needs to know if Georgie is dead.

His mom answers on the third ring. Georgie is sleeping peacefully in his bed.

Bill’s not sure if he’s going mad, or if the whole world is. 

-

A week passes.

Richie tries to drink two gallons of milk in one sitting to prove he can.

Eddie calls him an idiot.

Richie throws up.

Everything is fine. 

-

Eddie likes to brush his teeth after he eats lunch. He knows it’s kinda weird, he knows that, but it makes him feel clean, so every day at 1 pm he walks to the bathroom across from the dining hall - the one that gets cleaned on a weekly basis, and he brushes and flosses and rinses his mouth. 

Today, when he walks in, everything is as it should be. He puts the toothpaste on the toothbrush, runs the water over it for a second, and then begins to brush, counting in his head as he does so. When he reaches 30, everything goes wrong. 

The doors lock. He doesn’t hear the click, but he sees the knob turn in the mirror, and he furrows his brow. He turns to look behind him, and that’s when the stall doors open, and five _things_ walk out. They’re all covered in sores, leaking pus, and Eddie wants to gag just looking at them. This can’t be real, it just can’t be real.

The things step forward. Behind him, the faucets start. A dark liquid falls out from them, staining red against the clean tile of the bowl of the sink. The drains must be clogged, because the water level begins to rise.

The things take another step forward. 

Eddie drops his toothbrush.

He runs to the door, but it won’t open, which makes no sense because it locks from the inside, but he’s trapped and there’s nothing he can do. He wants to curl up into a ball and scream, but instead, he raises his arms to shield his face, squeezes his eyes shut, and waits for the monsters to come.

They never do.

When he opens his eyes, the bathroom is stained with blood, running over the sinks and onto the floor. His shoes are bloody. The things are gone.

Eddie can’t breathe. He takes a puff on his inhaler. It doesn’t help.

-

A month passes.

Bill doesn’t walk home alone anymore.

Eddie doesn’t brush his teeth after lunch. 

Everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I will not be updating this quickly next time, I just started writing chapter two and then I couldn't stop till I got it all out. Thanks so much for the prompt uplifting response.
> 
> So I've decided to make Pennywise a liberal interpretation of a windigo, which is basically a native American mythological creature that eats humans. There are some tails that say that they were once human, but when the ate other humans they became monsters. I don't know much about native mythos, and Pennywise is not meant to be a "normal" windigo, it's my own interpretation of one because it works better with the story I'm building. But yeah, in this story it's not an all-powerful alien creature thing. In this story, it can be killed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you okay?” He asks, and Richie looks up at him, smiling like he’s about to make a joke, but Eddie gives him a serious look. “Did something happen?”
> 
> Richie looks away for a second, staring back at the missing children’s poster. “Can you tell me who I am?” he asks.
> 
> Eddie doesn’t understand why Richie is asking, but he knows, somehow, that he needs to hear Eddie say it. “Richie Tozier, Bill’s pain in the ass best friend”
> 
> “Then yeah,” Richie says, turning away from the poster and starting back towards the dorm. He throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally lied. I am updating stupidly fast and I have no regrets. Well, I have at least three regrets, but we'll talk about that later. Thanks again for the positive responses. Comments feed my soul.
> 
> Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

Stan sits on the floor next to Bill’s bed, his head leaning back against the mattress. They’ve been independently studying next to each other for the past two hours - Richie was with them initially, but he left after fifteen minutes saying he was off to find, “some real college students, what kind of first year actually fucking studies, what the fuck” - and as much as Stan appreciates a good work ethic, he’s getting tired. The words have started to jumble themselves in his head. He straightens his spine and stretches, wincing as his back makes a clicking noise. Yeah, he’s definitely been sitting here for too long.

“Bill,” He says, neatly piling his books to the side for later use.

“Stan,” Bill says, still focused on his textbook.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Oh thank god,” Bill replies, shoving the book off his lap, barely stuttering as he continues. “I would’ve stopped a half hour ago, but I wanted to spite Richie, and you’re really cute while you study-” Bill cuts himself off, blushing, and Stan smiles. 

“I m-m-mean,” Bill exclaims, his stutter back in full force and his face beet red. “I mean, y-you l-looked peaceful. I-I didn’t want to d-disturb you.”

“Well, I promise you’re not disturbing me,” Stan replies, gently putting Bill out of his misery. “I need to stretch my legs, and there's been a male cardinal around the park lately. Maybe we could go down and see if it’s still there?”

Bill shot him a wide grin. “That sounds great”

-

Richie doesn’t know where he’s going.

His legs move, but his brain is not directing them. He started walking fifteen minutes before, and he’s well on his way to circling the campus. He doesn’t know where his legs are taking him, but he knows that he wants to start walking and keep on walking until his brain stops buzzing.

He gets like this sometimes, jittery. He can’t sit still. He thought about going to look for Eddie, but then he remembered that Eddie is in class, and Bill and Stan are  _ studying _ \- actually fucking studying, what the fuck - and Richie doesn’t know where to go so he just  _ goes _ and figures he’ll deal with the where later. 

He’s rounding a corner in a strangely empty part of campus when he sees Bill.

“Bill!” He calls, and rushes forward, intending to jump at Bill, throw his arms around Bill’s neck and bring them both tumbling to the ground. But Bill turns to look at him, his eyes confused.

“Yes?” He says, formally. Now it’s Richie’s turn to be confused.

“Just wanted to say hi,” Richie says, stopping a foot in front of Bill.

“Do I know you?” Bill asks. Richie glares.

“Stop fucking around.”

“I’m sorry, but you must be looking for someone else,” Bill isn’t stuttering. Everything is wrong here.

“No, I’m not,” Richie insists, “I’m looking for Bill Denbrough, my best friend.”

“Well I’m Bill Denbrough,” Bill says, “but I don’t know you,”

Richie can feel his hands shaking. “I’m serious, Bill, stop it.”

“Why would anyone want to be friends with you?” The Bill who wasn’t Bill - couldn’t be Bill - said, looking Richie up and down in disgust. “I’m not surprised no one tried to find you.”

_ No one tried to find you  _ \- the words echo in his mind.

“What do you mean, tried to find me?” Richie asks, taking a step back. His voice cracks. “I’m right here.”

Bill smiles, a cold mean smile that Richie has never seen on his friend. “No, you’re not. You’re missing Richie. You’ve been missing for a long time.” And Bill -  _ no, not Bill, not Bill _ \- points behind him.

Richie’s head whips around, and his eyes catch on a sign pole. His picture stares back at him. It’s his senior picture from high school, he’s wearing an honest to god polo shirt and his hair is actually neat. The text beneath it reads 

“Richie Tozier

Missing”

It says nothing else, which doesn’t make sense because there should be numbers to call and information about him, but those three words are all it says. Richie doesn’t realize he’s moved until he’s beside the pole and reaching up to tear the paper down. There’s another one below it, echoing his own name and face back to him.

“What a pity,” Says a voice behind him, but it’s not Bill’s voice anymore. Richie stumbles backwards as his mother walks forward, shaking her head. Her features are blank, her voice a monotone. “At least I’m still young enough to try again. Maybe a girl this time, that would be better.”

Richie rushes forward, he grabs at his mother, gripping onto her like he used to when he was a child, before he learned better. 

“Mom,” He says, “Mom, it’s me, it’s Richie,” His mother looks back at him with blank eyes as he pleads with her. “Mom, I’m right here!”

“What a pity,” She says again, and then she’s gone, just gone, and Richie is holding on to nothing, and he stumbles forwards.

The street is empty.

His missing poster is gone, as if it had never been there.

Richie starts walking again, and after five steps he breaks into a run. He doesn’t know where he’s going until he’s outside one of the lecture halls, and students are flooding out, and he sees Eddie in the crowd.

“Eddie!” He calls, his voice desperate, “Eddie!”

Eddie looks up at Richie, and he smiles for a second before he schools his face into an expression of disdain. “What do you want, Richie?”

Richie hugs him. “Oh thank fucking god.”

Eddie doesn’t push him away for a full ten seconds.

-

They are most definitely not on a date. Nope, not at all.

Bill easily falls into stride next to Stan, and if their hands brush together at their sides, then that is clearly an accident. They are not on a date.

If Bill’s heart melts at Stan’s excitement when they spot the cardinal, perched on a low branch of a tree, then that’s just friendly appreciate of Stan’s interests. They are  _ not _ on a date.

If Stan grabs Bill’s hand and leads him a few steps closer, pointing out the key characteristics of a male cardinal, then it’s really just because he was excited and wanted to maneuver Bill correctly. They are not on a date.

If Stan’s smile is like the sun and Bill finds his body leaning forward -  _ without his brain’s permission thank you very much _ \- and kissing him lightly, just a peck really. A soft press of lips, his hand against Stan’s cheek for a fleeting instant. If that happens, and if Stan smiles softly and leans forward to kiss him again, then it is clearly just - just - okay. 

So maybe they’re on a date.

-

Beverly is tired. 

She had known that taking 16 credit hours in her first semester wasn’t her best choice - most people took 12 to 15 - but she was behind. She had repeated a year of math in high school and had barely passed English. Honestly, she isn’t entirely sure how she got into derry, but she isn’t about to question it. Instead, she throws herself into work, deciding that she will catch up to her peers or run herself into the ground trying.

So far, she seems to have a 50/50 shot at each possibility. Her grades are good, but if she tries to solve one more differential equation, she’s going to either cry or scream or invent some kind of screaming-crying combination of doom. She shuts her book and looks up.

Her favorite place to study is the public library. There’s a school library, but it’s full of serious looking students who study serious sounding things. The public library - with it’s overflowing couches and kind old-lady librarians - is more of her style. She shoves her books into her rucksack, slinging the bag onto one shoulder, and then walks out into the brisk autumn day.

The weather is cold enough for sweaters, but warm enough that she can still get away with wearing shorts. It’s her favorite time of year. She runs a hand through her short hair - she cut it the day after she moved in, she likes to think it makes her a new person - and smiles. She starts down the road, feeling the cool breeze against her skin. She can do this. 

She’s been busy, yeah, but she’s happy here. She can dress how she wants and go where she wants and be who she wants, and she may not have any close friends, but she doesn’t have any enemies either. There’s a cute boy with a shy smile and a kind nature that smiles at her across the quad and sends her emails full of poetry. 

A man whistles as she walks by, and calls out to her, “Looking fine, Girly!” he says, and she scowls, her perfect moment ruined. 

She flips him off over her shoulder and says “Bite me!” Loud enough for him to hear.

An arm goes around her waist. “Don’t mind if I do.”

She stumbles away from the touch, pushing the man away. It’s the man from the street, but as soon as she recognizes him his face begins to change, the features melting into something different, and then her father stands in front of her. He grabs her arm, which she has held out in front of her - a futile effort to keep her attacker at bay - and smiles.

His teeth shine white and sharpen into points, and then he bites down on her arm. She screams, kicking at him wildly, and he releases her, smiling. Red blood - her blood - drips from his mouth, and he licks his lips.

“Delicious,” he says, and steps forwards. She backs up but finds that someone is behind her now. A hand grabs at her breasts, and she whacks it away. Another man appears, and then another, and she realizes that they’re all wearing her father’s face. 

“Are you still my little girl,” They say in unison, their voices echoing around her. She pushes one out of the way to find another blocking her path.

“Are you still daddy’s good little girl,” The nearest one whispers, and she throws a punch at him, but he’s already moved, and another is coming at her.

“Be a good girl for daddy,” He says, and she lets out a cry, scrambling away, but she’s surrounded and there’s no getting away.

“Hey!” A new voice cries, a young man. And the men wearing her father’s face all look up at the same time. A dark-skinned boy runs down the street, brandishing a shovel like a sword, and suddenly the group of men are one man again. The thing winks at Beverly, and then he’s gone.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the boy reaches her and holds out a handkerchief - an honest to god handkerchief - to her, and she takes it gratefully. He asks if she’s okay, and she says she is but he leads her back to his truck anyway and rummages in the glovebox until he finds a first aid kit.

His name is Mike, and he cleans the bite wound on her arm and bandages it with light fingers, and when he’s done he sits next to her until her breathing slows and she feels calm.

And then he asks “what did you see?”

She tells him everything.

-

Eddie knows that something has shaken Richie. He’s talking about nothing and everything, which is normal for Richie, but there’s a strain in his voice that’s unusual. Despite his best attempts at indifference, Eddie is worried. 

When Eddie had walked out of his lecture to find Richie running at him, shouting his name, he had been happy to see him, sure, but Richie had all but smothered Eddie in his arms. They’ve gotten close over the past month, spending quite a bit of time together - with the other boys, Ben and Stan and Bill - but hugging isn’t their thing. In fact, Eddie doesn’t particularly like to hug anyone if he could help it, the prolonged touching made his skin itch. 

Richie had thrown himself at Eddie, and Eddie had been so surprised that he had allowed it. Richie was warm, and he smelled like cinnamon, which was surprising because he knew for a fact that Richie didn’t shower as much as he should and had only washed his clothes when Eddie had threatened to set his favorite shirt on fire. Eddie had leaned into it for a second, and then let Richie hold him, and then he’d taken a deep breath and pushed Richie off of him.

Now Richie is jittery. They’re walking back to Neibolt house, and Eddie has set an easy pace, but Richie keeps on going ahead and then walking backwards, walking circles around Eddie, jabbering on about his favorite kind of taco - surprisingly not an innuendo, he makes no fish taco jokes - he apparently likes chicken tacos better than beef tacos, which Eddie things is gross and wrong. 

They pass a lamp post with a missing children’s poster on it - there seem to be a lot of missing children in Derry - and Richie flinches, darting away from the post and crossing the street, dragging Eddie with him. And fuck, Eddie is worried about this inane boy.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Richie looks up at him, smiling like he’s about to make a joke, but Eddie gives him a serious look. “Did something happen?”

Richie looks away for a second, staring back at the missing children’s poster. “Can you tell me who I am?” he asks.

Eddie doesn’t understand why Richie is asking, but he knows, somehow, that he needs to hear Eddie say it. “Richie Tozier, Bill’s pain in the ass best friend”

“Then yeah,” Richie says, turning away from the poster and starting back towards the dorm. He throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woaaaaaaaaaah, we're halfway there, woaaaaaah, living on a prayer.
> 
> FYI, in this story, we love and appreciate Mike Hanlon.
> 
> That is all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It makes sense. It’s just impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied. We were not halfway done last chapter. I decided to make this seven chapters long instead of six because I decided to spend more time developing character relationships. This is only half the plot I wanted to fit into this chapter, but it's already twice the length of the other chapters, and I don't want to rush anything.

Ben is not chased by It. His realization doesn’t come in a rush, a terrifying instant followed by a dawning realization that something is wrong. He realizes something is wrong in Derry over the course of a few weeks.

First, he notices the missing children’s posters. They’re everywhere, some signposts had the faces of two or more children staring blankly out of them, but nobody talks about it. The people don’t seem overly worried, and besides the curfew for minors, the police don’t seem to be doing much about it either. So he goes to the school library, settles down in a corner chair, and opens his laptop. 

It’s not just children. People go missing in Derry ridiculously often. In his first hour of research he comes up with countless police reports of missing persons, and more murders than he cares to consider. There is no article that he can find that connects the murders and the disappearances. They all refer to them as isolated incidents, no matter how similar the crimes appear.

It doesn’t make sense.

Then he turns to the physical files the library keeps of local newspapers and looks back further. Explosions, murders, poisonings, and disappearances, disappearances, disappearances. It goes back hundreds of years. 

It doesn’t make sense.

Then he finds the Native American legends. He reads about the tribe that destroyed itself, and find the story of the people that came after, the European colonists that set up a beaver trapping town, and vanished without a trace.

It makes sense. It’s just impossible.

-

Richie wakes up in a rush. His blankets are wrapped around him tightly, latching onto his limbs like vices, and he’s dangerously close to falling off his bed. His bed, which is lofted five feet off the floor. He rolls back, breathing hard, pulling his limbs away from the blankets. He sits up. The clock reads six AM. He sighs. 

Richie is not a morning person, but he doesn’t want to go back to sleep. Not when he dreams of his friends, his family, everyone he’s ever known, all staring at him with that blank expression. “Who are you?” they ask. “Who are you?”

In his dreams, he can’t answer. In his dream, he can’t remember his own name. He tries to say it, but his voice is lost to him, and the voices flow around him, asking him a question he doesn’t know the answer to.

“Richie Tozier,” he says now, his voice as strong as he can manage. “Richie Tozier.”

Richie isn’t afraid of much. He doesn’t much like clowns, and he mistrusts spiders (they have too many legs - they must be hiding something), but he’s fine with the dark, and heights, and most everything else. But somehow, the idea of disappearing from the minds of everyone he loves is more terrifying than anything he could ever imagine. 

He’s loved, he knows that, but in a distant way. His parents love him, they just don’t love him enough. They don’t understand him, and they’ve never tried to. His mother gave him up as a lost cause the day that his second-grade teacher told her that Richie might have ADD, and his dad must have done the same years before. They love him as best they can, but they can’t love him enough. And it hurts.

Bill loves him. Bill’s the one that got him through school, got him through life. Bill’s been there through it all, not caring if Richie runs his mouth, standing up for Richie as best he could when the kids at school teased him, telling Richie when enough was enough ( _ Beep Beep Richie _ , Bill had joked years before,  _ your mouth is running like the roadrunner _ ). Bill loves Richie, and Richie has always tried to make it be enough. It’s not; because one person’s love means a lot, but it can’t fix a broken heart on its own. And it hurts. 

Richie can’t bare the thought of losing even the little bit of love that he’s managed to cling to over the years. He doesn’t want to be forgotten.

He goes to get some water. “Richie Tozier,” He tells himself.

Bill is in the hallway.

“What are you doing up?” Richie asks, and Bill looks over at Richie.

“I c-could say the same to you, I h-haven’t seen you get up willingly before noon in years. Who are you and w-what have you done with Richie?” 

Richie smiles, thinking  _ I’m Richie, I’m Richie, I’m Richie _ “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Ah,” Bill says, an understanding in his eyes that Richie doesn’t quite understand. “I was actually just waiting for S-Stan to get out of the bathroom, we were gonna g-go bird watching.”

Richie narrows his eyes at Bill, looking him up and down. He’s dressed warmly and has two blankets in his arms. “At six in the morning?” He asks.

“Owls,” Bill replies simply, and as Richie opens his mouth to ask another question, the bathroom door opens. Stan steps out. He’s dressed similarly to bill, and he’s holding a book with a bird on the cover. What a nerd.

Stan grabs Bill’s hand, and Richie realizes that this is a  _ date _ , a stupidly early, nerdy-as-hell,  _ date _ ,  He grins.

“Well, make sure you guys use protection,” He says, and Stan flushes, but Bill glares. “What?!? It’s a dangerous world out there, I’d hate for you guys to end up with the bird flu.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“That d-doesn’t even make any sense,” Bill tells him.

“It doesn’t have to make sense because love doesn’t make sense” Richie declares.

“As if you know anything about love,” Bill says, and that stings. He knows that Bill means romantic love, knows that they’re just kidding around. But fuck.

Richie holds a hand to his chest in mock-affront, “I’ll have you know,” He begins, “Everything I know about love I learned from your mother.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill says, but he’s smiling, and the weight in Richie’s chest eases a little bit. “We’ve g-gotta get going, try to g-get some more sleep.”

Richie agrees, even though he knows he’s not going back to bed tonight. He shuffles into the bathroom, and drinks some water directly from the sink, then splashes some on his own face. “Richie Tozier,” He says again, like a mantra.

As he walks out of the bathroom, something occurs to him. Bill is gone, and that means that Eddie is alone in Bill’s room. He goes back to his room, grabs the spare key he’d stolen from Bill the day they moved in, and heads back over to Bill and Eddie’s room.

When he enters the room, it’s dark. The sun won't rise for another half hour. He waits a second for his eyes to adjust and then walks forward quietly. Eddie is asleep, curled onto his side, his blankets pulled up to his waist. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, which is unfairly cute, and he looks so peaceful. The little worry line that comes out between his eyebrows whenever he’s thinking about germs (so basically whenever he’s around Richie) is gone. 

Richie doesn’t know why he does it, but he walks over to the bed and sits on the ground next to it. He leans his back against the bed, letting his head tip onto the mattress. 

He can hear Eddie breathing beside him. 

His closes his eyes.

He doesn’t dream.

-

Beverly spots Ben in the cafeteria, and she makes a decision.

She walks up to where he’s sitting and places her back on the back of the seat across from him. “Anyone sitting here?” She asks.

“Oh,” Ben says, looking up, his expression moroseful. When he realizes who’s spoken, he smiles, shaking his head. “Yes. I mean, yes, you can sit there. I mean, nobody’s sitting there. I - just.”

He stops talking, stares at her, and then puts his face in his hands. “Please sit down,” he says, kindly, and she does, smiling at his nervousness.

“I’m sure you’re very charming when you’ve had the chance to prepare ahead of time,” She says, and he looks up at her gratefully, and nods.

“Very charming, lots of compliments and opening of doors and ‘after you’s” 

She wrinkles her nose, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t have a chance to prepare then, because I am fully capable of opening my own doors, thank you.”

Ben colors again, looking both pleased with her response and embarrassed at his own comment, and she can’t help but find it cute. She pushes her hair out of her face, and Ben’s eyes catch on the bandage on her arm.

“What happened?” He asks, taking her hand gently and running a finger lightly across the bandage.

She bites her lip, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He looks up at her, a measure of suspicion in his gaze. She wonders if he’s seen something too, like Mike, who told her all about his years living in Derry and all the horrors he’s heard of. Something in his eyes tells her he has. 

“I think I just might,” He says seriously.

“Tell me your story,” She states, “And I’ll tell you mine.”

He speaks in a soft voice, his eyes flitting around the room. He tells her about his research and what he thinks is happening. He tells her he knows it's crazy but he doesn’t see any other possible solution. She believes him, and she tells him her tale. He listens.

-

Eddie wakes up peacefully. It’s the kind of waking that comes naturally. No alarm rings, no dream jolts him into wakefulness. His mind surfaces gradually. He blinks his eyes open, and then blinks again in confusion. 

There is a boy asleep next to his bed. Not just any boy, but Richie, who has his own damn room with his own damn bed.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says. Richie doesn’t move. Eddie slaps him in the head.

“What the fuck,” He says again, and Richie blinks up at him sleepily.

“Hi, Eddie,” Richie says, and then he closes his eyes again. Eddie stares at him.

“Why are you in my room.” Eddie asks, “Better yet, why are you sleeping next to my bed. You have a bed, and a room, and I’m sure it’s a lot more comfortable and a lot less creepy.”

“I’ll have you know that my room is incredibly creepy,” Richie says, eyes still closed, and Eddie slaps him in the head again.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Richie finally opens his eyes, meeting Jack’s gaze. For a second, just a second, he looks incredibly sad. “I-” He says, then cuts off, thinking, “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone. And Stan and Bill went to go fuck in the bushes while listening to owls -”

“I’m one hundred percent positive that they are not doing that,” Eddie interjects, pulling on a strand of Richie’s hair that’s sticking straight up into the air. 

“Ow!” Richie exclaims, smacking Eddie’s hand away. “And no, I’m sure they’re being disgustingly cute and holding hands and Bill is working on his creative writing essay while Stan labels a diagram of the anatomy some fucking bird. I didn’t tell you to try to spare them some of their dignity”

“You and I have very different definitions of dignity,” Eddie says, and he smiles. Richie is annoying and he’s in Eddie’s bedroom without permission at seven in the morning, but he can never fail to make Eddie smile.

Richie twists around so that he’s facing Eddie properly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry if I’m fucking with your morning,” He says, and Eddie is taken aback. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard Richie apologize, and Richie’s expression is so sincere that it’s almost unnerving.

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, because he can’t stand the idea of upsetting Richie, even though Eddie is the one who should be upset right now.

“I saw something,” Richie says. “Last week, I saw something.”

Eddie remembers the bathroom, the blood, and the  _ things _ . “You did?” He asks, his mouth dry.

“There was a missing poster, like the ones that are up all over town, but it had my name and my face. It was me, and it said I was missing.” Richie says, the words flowing out in a rush, as if he’d been holding them back for too long, “And there were people, people I knew, but they didn’t know me, it was like I’d been forgotten. Bill, he told me he didn’t know me, and then my mom was there, and-” His voice cuts out, “And then they were gone, everything was just gone. It was impossible. But it was real, Eds, I swear.”  

He stares up at Eddie with wide eyes, and Eddie realizes he’s not wearing his glasses. He looks different without them, more real. Like he’s been hiding behind the thick lenses. Or maybe it’s his expression, entreating and scared, that changes him. Either way, Eddie finds that he can’t tell Richie the same lies he’s been telling himself since he ran out of the bathroom that day.

“I saw something too,” He says, and Richie’s eyes widen. “I saw something. It wasn’t the same as what you saw, there weren’t missing posters or anything, but it was impossible. And then it was gone. Last week, in one of the bathrooms. There was all this _blood_ and these  _ things _ that couldn’t exist. I thought I must have been hallucinating or something, but it was real, wasn’t it?”

Richie nods. “I think it was,” he says.

Eddie grabs his inhaler from the counter next to his bed, pushes the canister down, and takes a long inhale. “Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” Richie says.

Eddie lowers himself down to the floor next to Richie, and they lean against his bed together. Their legs press together, and at some point, Eddie reaches over and grabs onto Richie’s wrist, like a lifeline. Richie lets him hold on.

“Can I hang out here for a while?” Richie asks.

“Okay,” Eddie says.

They stare straight ahead in silence.

-

Bill and Stan return in the early afternoon. Richie isn’t in his room when Stan goes to put his book away and change his clothes, and Bill worries for a minute, because Richie hadn’t seemed alright that morning. He’d put up a good facade, but Bill has been Richie’s best friend for a long time, and he knows when his friend is faking. He had been hoping that Richie had gone back to sleep, but it seems like he never went back to his room.

He find’s Richie in his own room. He and Eddie are leaning on each other in companionable silence, which is strange for two reasons. The first is that Richie is not known for being silent. He’s a chatterbox, which earned him the nickname “Trashmouth” in school, and Bill’s not sure if he’s ever seen Richie be quiet for longer than a few minutes of a time when he’s not asleep. The second is that Eddie is a total germaphobe, and he’s been insisting that Richie is a walking disease since the moment he laid eyes on him. This situation makes no sense, but there they are, Eddie’s hand on Richie’s arm, Richie’s head resting on the top of Eddie’s. Fit together like puzzle pieces.

They barely move when they see him. Richie picks his head up, but Eddie keeps his hold on Richie. Richie puts on his biggest, most anger-inducing grin, and says “how was your bird-fucking?”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill says, not interested in Richie’s bullshit when something was so clearly wrong. “What h-happened to you guys? Richie, I thought you w-were going back to bed?”

“Nothing,” Richie replies, at the same time that Eddie says, “We’re pretty sure Derry is haunted.”

Richie glares over at Eddie, “He’s gonna think we’re crazy. And I don’t think it’s haunted, whatever it was felt a lot too real to be dead.” 

Bill stills. “Did you guys see something?”

“Not together,” Eddie says, “I saw something last week, blood came out of the sinks, it was everywhere. And Richie saw some things on the street the other day, something that looked like - well, like you actually - but it wasn’t you.”

Bill swallows, “Could it c-change its shape?” He asks.

Richie looks up. “Yeah, it was you, and then it was my mom. I didn’t see it change, but I looked away for a second and then it was different.” He wrinkles his brow, “How did you know?”

“B-because I saw something too,” Bill says.

-

Mike is out in the stables, shoveling hay, when he hears the shouts.

“MIKE,” A familiar voice calls out, and he leans the shovel against the wall, walking out into the sunlight. Beverly is walking down from the main house, dragging a boy behind her. 

“Your grandad said you were out here,” She says, once she and the boy reach the stables. “I hope it’s not a bad time.”

“No, I’m actually ahead of schedule,” Mike says, wiping his hands on his jeans and leading Beverly and the boy into the stables. There’s a wooden table with two benches in the corner, under a sunlight. 

“Good,” Beverly says. “This is Ben, and he has some research to show you.”

-

His friends are all insane. His boyfriend is insane. This is insane.

Stan thinks there must be something in the water, or that Bill, Richie, and Eddie must have ingested LSD on accident, because nothing they’re saying is even remotely possible. Blood dripping from sinks and people that disappear and reappear, and dead brothers that grew arms back and tried to kill people. Things like that just aren’t empirically possible, and he said as much.

“That’s not empirically possible,” Stan says, and Richie shoots him a look.

“Maybe not, but it’s happening anyway,” Richie says. 

Stan shakes his head, “But it’s not-”

“Possible, yeah, I know. You’ve said that about twenty times already, and my answer isn’t going to change no matter how many times you say it, bird-boy.” Richie’s voice is snide, with a wavering undertone. “There’s something wrong with this town.”

“Maybe there’s just something wrong with your brain,” Stan shoots back, and Bill grabs his shoulder. 

“Stan,” He says, and Stan looks him in the eyes. Bill looks serious, and that sucks. He knows Bill isn’t crazy - no matter how possibly insane Richie might be - and if Bill saw something too, then it’s worse than an unhealthy dose of insanity. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Stan says, because it’s true.

Bill smiles, but there’s a strain to it. “You don’t h-have to believe me, but just know that I’m n-not lying to you.”

Stan nods. As unhealthy as it probably is, ever since he met Bill, he hasn’t been able to deny him anything.

“It’s only h-happened w-when we’re on our own,” Bill says. “We’ve never seen anything while we were in groups. So I think - u-until we figure out w-what’s going on - w-we shouldn’t go anywhere alone.” 

Richie and Eddie nod immediately, and Stan opens his mouth to protest - he doesn’t need a babysitter - but Bill looks at him imploringly. 

“Please,” he says.

Stan has never been able to deny Bill anything.

-

Mike fills in the holes of Ben’s research. Where Ben’s paper trail runs cold, Mike knows folktales his grandad used to tell him about Derry. It comes together into a disturbing picture.

“So, this monster, It’s been around for hundreds of years?” Ben asks, already knowing the answer.

“As far as I can tell, about five hundred. Hard to tell, though, there are no dates to the Native American stories. Everyone assumed it was all a myth.” Mike says, shrugging.

Ben shakes his head. “But then, what do we do? What  _ can _ we do?”

“We kill it,” Beverly says definitely. 

Ben wants to argue, but her face is set into a determined expression, and he sighs. “I guess we’re gonna need to do some more research.”

-

Another week passes, and nothing happens. They move together in groups of two or more, like scared sheep. 

It’s infuriating, Bill hates being reduced to cowering. Whatever this thing is, he wants to fight it. The issue is that he doesn’t know what it is, or  _ how _ to fight it, or where to fight it, or anything really. All he knows is that it exists and that it’s dangerous.

The boys have changed. Eddie spooks at the slightest noise. Accepting that what he had seen was real had scared him more than the event itself. Richie, however, seems to be more at ease. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he’s not going mad, maybe it’s that he can focus on protecting Eddie and Bill and Stan instead of reliving his own terror. Stan is in denial. He complains about not going anywhere alone, but he also says that he doesn’t mind the excuse to keep Bill around. He says they’re all crazy, but he trusts Bill enough to listen when he asks him to take every precaution  _ just in case _ . 

They haven’t told Ben. He’s been busy lately, out with a girl named Beverly that he can’t stop talking about and a local boy named Mike. They seem to be working on some sort of research project, but he’s very vague whenever Bill asks about it. It’s for the best because it means that Ben is almost never alone, always at Neibolt house with the boys or out with Beverly and Mike. 

On this particular day, however, the other two are busy, and Ben seems to be getting ready to head out on his own.

“Where you off to?” He asks, sidling up next to Ben.

“Just to the library, I’ve got some more research to do,” Ben says.

“Oh, I’ve got some work to do too,” Bill says, and it’s not strictly untrue. He has some homework to work on, and he can do it just as well at the library as he can in his dorm room, “I’ll tag along.”

Ben agrees, Bill shoves his things into his bag, and shoots a text to Eddie, telling him that he’s going to the library with Ben and that he’ll be back to the room later that evening.

It isn’t a far walk, just a couple blocks, and the weather is still warm enough that it’s not uncomfortable, so their walk is relatively peaceful. Bill spots a man leaning against a post, a cigarette in his mouth. Ben stops, staring at him.

Bill looks back and realizes several things at once. The shirt the man is wearing isn’t red, as Bill had thought, but stained through with blood. There seems to be a massive wound in his chest, and blood drips onto the cement. His face is cut too, marred in a way that makes Bill wonder how he missed it initially. He looks familiar, and it takes a minute for him to realize that he looks like an older version of Ben. He’s got the same square jaw and curved nose and kind eyes - all marred with scars.

“Dad?” Ben asks, his voice small, and the man smiles. He’s missing half his teeth.

“Did you forget about me, son?” The man questions. “I finally make it home, and you’re not even glad to see me.”

“You’re dead,” Ben says, shaking his head. “We buried you, ten years ago. It was an open casket. I saw you, you’re dead.”

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” The man asks, dropping his cigarette, stepping forwards. He left a trail of blood behind him. 

His hand cinches around Ben’s wrist, and Ben flinches back. Bill steps forward and pulls the man’s hand away. His skin is cold and clammy. His eyes focus on Bill.

“Don’t get in my way, boy.” He says. “Or I’ll bite Stanley’s head right off. Or tear Richie limb from limb. Who knows, I might even go on a trip and make a snack of poor little Georgie.” As he speaks, his voice distorts, changing into that high pitched voice that haunts Bill’s nightmares.

“I can almost hear their screams already,” The man says, and as if on cue the sound of screaming echoes around them. Georgie, Richie, Eddie, His parents, and louder than any of them, Stan. 

“Help,” they cry, “Help me, don’t let me die,” It’s a ghastly chorus.

Bill covers his ears with his palms and shakes his head.

“This isn’t real,” He says, his voice unusually steady. “It’s not real, and you can’t scare me.”

“I’ll make it real enough for you,” The man says, “Everything you fear will come true-”

And then he’s hit in the head with a rock. He clearly didn’t expect it, and his head snaps sideways. Bill looks around, and sees Ben standing a yard away, one hand extended as if he’d just thrown something and a rock in his other hand. Bill follows his lead, grabs a chunk of cement that had broken off the edge of the road, and hurls it at the thing. It hits it in the chest, knocking it down, and Bill doesn’t wait for a second chance.

“RUN!” He yells, grabbing onto Ben and taking off down the road.

They don’t stop running until they enter the library, and the librarian looks up at them from the counter in disapproval. They sink into one of the many couches, it takes several minutes for Bill to catch his breath, and Ben doesn’t seem to fare much better.

When he feels as if he can speak without throwing up, Bill says, “I d-didn’t think it could attack us w-when there was more than one of us.”

“You’ve seen it before?” Ben asks, “The monster.”

Bill nods, “Y-yeah. It went after me a l-little w-while ago. And E-Eddie and Richie h-have seen it t-too.” His voice wobbles more than usual, his momentary steadiness from early long gone. “I think it m-must be g-getting stronger. I-it’s never gone after m-more than one of us b-before.”

He expects Ben to be surprised, or at least upset about the events that he had just seen. He looks a bit shaken, but more resigned than scared. “Yeah,” Ben nods, “That makes sense, the stories said it feasts on fear as much as human flesh.”

The matter-of-fact-ness that Ben expresses leaves Bill’s mouth gaping open. “It f-feasts on h-human flesh?” He asks, his voice squeaking a little bit in a way that makes him less than proud.

Ben nods, looks at Bill seriously, and says “I think we need to talk.”

-

Seven teenagers gather in the stables on Mike’s property, the smell of horses and hay in the air. The faces staring back at Mike wear a combination of fear, confusion, and apprehension.

Mike opens his notebook and stands up.

“So here’s what we know,” He begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the wonderful comments! They really encourage me to keep on writing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes,” They all say, as Stan slowly comes to accept the truth. "Yes," this is happening. "Yes," it is real. "Yes," we are scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the late update (I mean, I was updating weirdly fast before, so I wouldn't say this is THAT late. Two weeks is NORMAL), I had about three papers, two midterms, and a MUN conference in this last week. (Yes, I am an adult college student, no, I don't ship the losers as kids). I also got sick, visited family, and generally was miserable for about a week and a half.
> 
> Anyway, we're nearing the end now. There should be one more big plotty chapter, and then an epilogue (because every good story needs an epilogue).
> 
> I'm gonna go cry-study for another midterm now.

Richie is not at all sure of what’s going on between him and Eddie.

They lean on each other when the group gets together to research the creepy goddamn monster fucker, they walk to and from class together, they spend their free time together - just sitting in a room together, Eddie throwing things at Richie when he says something dumb (which is often). Maybe Eddie just likes him as a friend and finds comfort in the company, but Richie hopes there’s something more to it.

Because Eddie is funny, he’s a hypochondriac little shit, but he’s hilarious once Richie riles him up, and Richie knows exactly how to rile him up. A few choice words about Eddie’s mother and then they can bicker back and forth for literally hours. He kept track, once, and they were at it for two hours and forty-five minutes.

It’s a new thing, for someone to keep up with him. Richie’s always bounced off the walls, his mind racing at a mile a minute and his inability to concentrate not doing him any favors. Bill’s been there for him, something that Richie can stay tethered to while he races around like a comet. Bill is a sure thing in his life, something stable, but not much of a talker. Bill's stutter has always kept him on the quiet side, not wanting to speak unless what he was saying was important. Eddie can keep up with Richie, put him in his place, and Richie kinda loves it.

He loves it when Eddie swears. He seems like such a sweet guy, kinda short, delicate, with fragile looking cheekbones and big Bambi eyes, but when he gets irritated he’s got a mouth like a sailor. The first time Richie got cursed out by Eddie, he had been stunned silent. Actually silent. For almost a whole minute.

And then he'd yammered off some nonsense and left the room to run himself a cold shower.

But since that day, the one where they all came together, the one where they really discovered what the hell was happening in Derry, it’s been different. Eddie seems scared, more cautious than he was before, which is saying something. Eddie once found a month-old container of rice under Richie’s bed and refused to enter Richie’s room for a week because there could be mold spores in the air. He’s more willing to lean against Richie, let the taller boy put an arm around him, and Richie is happy to do it. Truth be told he likes having someone to look out for.

Not that he thinks Eddie is in need of protecting. The guy’s got a temper like fire and Richie's sure that Eddie could slap the shit out of anyone who tried to mess with him. And then verbally ream them out for ten minutes straight. But Eddie seems to find comfort in the little reassurances, and Richie isn’t about to complain; he likes having an excuse to be close to Eddie. He likes being there for Eddie’s smiles and laughs. He likes seeing that little furrow Eddie gets between his brows when he focuses on studying. He likes distracting Eddie and watching his anger slowly build up before exploding like a goddamn rocket. 

He likes Eddie, period. In fact, Richie thinks he may just be a little bit in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.

\- 

It’s Ben who discovers the pattern.

He’s sitting at a table at the library. Beverly sits across from him, sipping her coffee and focusing intently on a book sitting on the table in front of her. There’s something very comforting about her presence, and he finds it easy to work next to her in easy silence.

As she reads her book, he looks over schematics of the entire campus and the town of Derry. He’s an architecture major, and he finds the work interesting. It doesn’t take him long to notice a connection.

He marks the locations that each of them saw the monster on a map, and then marks down all the locations of other suspicious crimes that have occurred in Derry over the years. The x’s become almost direct lines, running down the pathways of the old sewer system. They lead directly to the location of the original sewage pumping plant. It was destroyed in an unexplained explosion that killed nearly a hundred people. The ruins were cleared away and a new sewer system was constructed, but the underground pump remains.

Neibolt house is built directly on top of it. 

He grabs Beverly’s hand, leaves the books open on the table, and runs.

-

Stan does his laundry every Saturday at 2 pm. It gives him enough time to eat lunch, get back to the dorm, and bring his things downstairs to the laundry room. Today, he puts in his two loads (white and darks) and sits down on the bench to wait for them to be done. He likes to make sure the clothes are washed properly and that nobody takes them out before the cycle is finished.

He opens his biology textbook and leans against the wall. The sound of the washing machines is a calming, repetitive noise, and Stan quickly finds himself engrossed in his reading. He highlights key passages with color-coded highlighters, and writes neat notes in the margins when necessary. He turns the page.

An image of a boy stares back at him, which is strange because this chapter is about macromolecules. 

The boy smiles.

Stan blinks.

The boy begins to speak.

“We are the dead ones,” he says. His voice isn’t one voice, but that of many children, all speaking together.

“We died down here,” He says.

“It took us,” He says, “And it killed us down here. Right below where you’re standing.”

“We died down here.”

Stan snaps the book shut, throwing it on the ground. It’s not possible. He doesn’t believe this nonsense, he’s only been going along with it for Bill’s sake. 

“It’s not real,” He says out loud, pressing his back more firmly against the wall. “It’s not real.”

“I am very real,” says a voice to his left.

Stan falls over in his haste to get away. He didn’t see the  _ thing _ until it spoke, but it is very solid now. It’s tall and thin, but in an unnatural, stretched way, and it had huge, clawed hands. Its skin is papery white, and it looks alarmingly like a clown. The biggest difference lies in the fang-like teeth that are on display in the things smiling mouth.

Stan runs.

He doesn’t make it to the door.

The thing grabs him, moving faster than should be possible, and picks him up with alarming ease before dropping him onto the floor. He hits the ground and feels the air knocked out of his lungs. He tries to sit up but a clawed hand presses against his shoulder. He feels one of the talons sink into his flesh, and then the warmth of blood. He’s too scared to scream, but his eyes well up with tears.

He’s going to die here.

-

Bill gets a call at exactly 2:09 PM. 

He’s in his dorm room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with his back against the wall. Richie lays beside him with his legs up against the wall, his dark curls fanning around his head. Mike and Eddie sit across the room. The conversation has fallen into a lull. Stan went downstairs not long ago to do his laundry, and Bill is playing stupid phone games. Eddie and Mike are talking seriously, and Richie seems to have fallen asleep. 

When the phone rings, Richie jumps so much that he almost kicks Bill in the head. Bill picks up his phone. Ben talks quickly, his voice breathy, as if he’s been running. A few choice words get through his confused brain. The sewer system. Neibolt house. The monster. It takes a second for the meaning behind the words to hit him. 

The monster lives under Neibolt. Even their home - their sanctuary - is not safe. They shouldn’t be alone in the building, if they should be in the building at all.

And Stan is downstairs, in the goddamn basement, doing his laundry.

Later, Bill won’t remember conveying the information to the other boys, or grabbing the baseball bat that was leaning against the wall, or leaving the room and rushing down the hallway to the stairs. He won’t remember rushing past Ben and Beverly on the ground floor as they burst in the front entrance. He won’t remember anything until he opens the door to the laundry room.

The monster is on top of Stan, and there’s blood on the floor. The monster’s jaw extends, its teeth elongating in an impossible way, and Bill is scared, fucking terrified, but he knows that Stan is in danger and he  _ just doesn’t think _ .

He runs at the child-eating fucking monster-thing and jumps on its back.

He shoves the baseball bat into the monster’s mouth, and hold onto either end, using it to stabilize himself. He has a full ten seconds to rejoice at the fact that Stan is alright - as soon as the monster lets go of him Stan shuffles away until his back hits the wall - and then he realizes that the monster’s attention is fully on him now. Shit.

The monster takes a wild swipe at Bill’s face with it’s talon-like-hands, and it’s sheer luck that it misses. Bill shifts his weight so that the monster overbalanced and needs to focus on righting itself, hoping to buy himself some time. When the monster balances, it swipes at Bill again, this time opening a cut on his upper arm. It stings, but he barely feels it. He’s trying to figure out what the fuck he can do when the door bursts open again. 

The rest of the group must have been following behind him, because they’re all together now, the five of them forcing their way through the door in a rush. Richie moves first. He’s always been the type to act on instinct, and it works in Bill’s favor now. He grabs Stan’s iron off the top of his laundry basket and moves forward quickly, smacking the monster directly in the head with the metal edge.

There’s a sickening crack - the sound of bones breaking - and Bill takes his chance to push himself off the monster’s back, leaving his baseball bat in the damn thing’s mouth. The rest of the group act in concert, moving forward and brandishing a strange array of weapons that they must have either found in the laundry room or picked up on their way down.

Mike is holding a three-hole-punch, and he whacks the monster swiftly after Richie steps back. Ben and Bev move in with their own makeshift weapons, and Eddie - sweet little Eddie - picks up a chair from the ground and swings it around into the monster’s back, knocking it face first onto the ground.

Trusting his friends to keep the monster busy, Bill rushes over to Stan, who has managed to pull himself up from the floor. He’s still bleeding - the red liquid running down from his shoulder and dripping onto the ground - but his eyes are clear. Bill quickly pulls Stan’s t-shirt aside and assesses the damage. The wound seems deep, but it’s a clean cut and there’s not much Bill can do but stop the bleeding. He takes off his flannel - leaving him in only his undershirt - and rips off a sleeve, folding it neatly before pressing it against the wound on Stan’s shoulder.

Bill looks behind him and recoils at the sight. The monster looks less human than before, its face is misshapen and its limbs bend strangely, but it still looks as menacing as ever. It swipes at Ben and catches him across the chest. Eddie seems to be bleeding from his arm. Richie’s glasses lay on the ground, the lenses cracked. The monster moves backwards, its mouth contorting into something akin to a smile, and then it seems to melt downward, becoming liquid, which swirled down into the drain. The seven teens stand in shocked silence, then Stan lets out a pitiful keening noise.

“No,” Stan says, “No no no.”

He’s clutching at his head, his brown curls twisted between his fingers. Bill moves to put an arm around him - his other hand still steadily applying pressure to Stan’s shoulder - and Stan leans against him.

“No,” He says again, and Bill’s heart breaks a little. He wanted Stan to believe, if only for the sake of safety, but he never wanted this.

“Yes,” Bill replies. “Yes.”

The others have moved closer now, Richie holding loosely onto his broken glasses and Ben clutching at his bleeding chest. Mike puts a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder, and it’s like a floodgate opening. Suddenly the rest of them rush forward, all reaching out to comfort and to be comforted.

“Yes,” They all say, as Stan slowly comes to accept the truth. "Yes," this is happening. "Yes," it is real. "Yes," we are scared.

-

Eddie watches as Mike carefully cleans and bandages his arm.

He's not cut badly, not in a way that will do permanent damage, but now that the adrenaline has worn off it aches. The alcohol stings as Mike dabs it on the wound, and Eddie concentrates on how it is warding off infection, cleaning out dirt and grime. Stan, Bill, and Ben have already been patched up - their wounds were more severe. Beverly and Mike made it out entirely unscathed, and Richie mended his glasses with scotch tape (badly). Eddie is fairly sure Richie can't see much of anything, based on the way he's squinting. 

They’re at Mike’s house right now, sitting in his living room. Nobody had wanted to stay at Neibolt house after the laundry room incident. They hadn’t even gone upstairs to grab a change of clothes or Richie’s spare glasses. They haven’t spoken much, not even Richie, who can never seem to shut up. Stan leans against Bill’s chest, and Bev and Ben sit comfortably close, talking softly. Mike, Richie, and Eddie are sat on the couch. Mike finishes with Eddie’s arm and stands up, declaring that he’s going to make some sandwiches for the lot of them. 

Richie puts an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. It’s something he’s started doing lately, and Eddie can’t even pretend to be mad about it. Richie’s presence is oddly comforting, even though he knows that Richie is as helpless as Eddie is in this situation, the sheer fact that he’s not alone puts him at ease.

Eddie turns his face towards Richie’s arm, tilting his chin up so that he can look Richie in the eyes. The taller boy looks uncharacteristically serious, with his half-mended glasses and somber expression, and he reaches up to gently run his fingers along Eddie’s jaw. Eddie leans into the touch on instinct, and Richie leans forward and rests his head against Eddie’s forehead. When he speaks, his voice is low and quiet.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and Eddie isn’t really surprised - they’ve been moving towards this at a steadily increasing pace since the moment they met - but Richie is gentler than Eddie had imagined, his voice soft, his fingers light on Eddie’s skin. Eddie doesn’t waste his breath on a response, but instead leans forward and presses his lips against Richie’s.

It’s not a deep kiss, just a soft press of lips. Their lips part and then meet again and again. Richie’s lips are chapped and a little bit rough against Eddie’s, and somehow Eddie likes that, likes the imperfections of it all. He likes that Richie isn’t some perfect creature because it makes him seem more real, more touchable, easier to love. Eddie would be afraid of hurting something - someone - that was too good to be true, but he knows that Richie is a loud-mouthed pain in the ass, and he’s not afraid of breaking him. Richie is already broken, and so is Eddie, and maybe they aren’t perfect for each other, but nobody is perfect, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe they’re okay just the way they are, the two of them curled into each other on Mike’s beat up old couch.

“Well that took you guys long enough,” Someone says, and they break apart, a slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks. Beverly is smiling at them. “I’ve only known the both of you for a week, but the sexual tension was killing me, I can’t imagine what Stan and Bill have been going through.

“I mostly ignore Richie,” Stan says, his expression flat. “Paying too much attention to him is like feeding gremlins after midnight, it only makes him worse”

Stan hasn’t really spoken since they left Neibolt, and it’s strange to hear him talk, and even stranger for him to sound like his good old Richie-sassing self. The rest of the room stare at him in stunned silence for a moment, and then Richie starts to laugh, and then they’re all laughing, because some weird clown-like monster who eats children just tried to kill them and they’re all fucking terrified but they’re still college students with really shitty senses of humor, and laughing is better than screaming.

Eddie laughs so hard that he begins to wheeze, and has to dig his inhaler out of his pocket and try to stop snorting long enough to take a deep inhale. Mike comes back into the room with a plate piled with sandwiches, and somehow that sets them all off again, and they laugh too loud and too long and it’s a balance between joy and sorrow. Mike looks at them in confusion, but sets the plate down on the coffee table and takes his place on the couch again. When they finally calm down, the strange quiet that had fallen over them after leaving Neibolt seems to break, and they grab sandwiches off the table and speak quietly to each other. Eddie is halfway through his ham-and-cheese when Bill addresses the room.

“S-so it can be hurt,” He says. The words have a sobering effect.

“But can it be killed?” Mike questions.

“Everything can be killed,” Ben says with a confidence that Eddie doesn’t understand. “If it can be hurt, it can be killed. There’s got to be a way.”

Richie shakes his head, “But how do we know what’ll work? All of us together could barely take it on. Half of us got cut up, I’m basically half blind because my goddamn glasses are broken, and we don’t know when or where it’ll pop up again.” His fingers skim lightly across Eddie’s injured arm. “It’s too dangerous, I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone here to die.”

Bill looks up, making eye contact with Richie. “It k-kills k-kids, Rich. And it s-seems fixated on us. We can’t just w-walk away, even if we w-wanted to.”

Stan makes a strange, exhausted sound, and leans into Bill again. There’s dried blood on his shirt and down his arm, and he’s paler than he usually is. He fared the worst in the attack, and accepting the truth about Derry seems to have done a number on his psyche. “What can we do?” he asks, his voice bleak. “We’re basically kids ourselves.”

“Fire,” Ben says, “There was something about fire.”

“Yes!” Beverly adds, her eyes lighting up. “In the old stories, the ones from the early days of Derry, they say that fire made you safe, that it wouldn’t go near a campfire, so they would keep a fire burning through the night.”

“So we know how to keep it away,” Eddie says, “But that doesn’t help us kill it, and we make everyone in Derry stay around a campfire forever.”

“But what if it’s more than that!” Ben exclaims, “What if it stays away from fire because fire can hurt it. It doesn’t shy away from light, or the sun, just fire.”

“That’s a lot of what if’s,” Mike says, his brow furrowed.

“It’s better than nothing.” Ben replies, “It’s a lead, at the very least.”

“No!” Richie exclaims, his voice sharp. “It’s not a ‘lead,’ we’re not fucking detectives. It’s a goddamn psycho monster fucker and we don’t know shit. We can’t do this, we just can’t.”

Eddie shakes his head. “What other choice do we have, Richie?”

Richie looks at Eddie, and he looks so lost that Eddie just wants to keep him somewhere safe where he doesn't have to be afraid anymore, but that’s just not possible. “God fucking dammit,” Richie says, leaning back. “Motherfucking hell, we’re all going to die.”

“No,” Beverly says, “we’re not, because this time, we’re going to be prepared.”

-

Beverly’s father taught her how to shoot when she was twelve years old. 

It was some of the only bonding time they had had that she had enjoyed. She felt powerful with a gun in her hand, dangerous, someone that people couldn’t mess with. And she was a good shot. 

Now, in the middle of a field on Mike’s granddad’s property, she helps Bill fix his stance and adjusts Stan’s hold on a shotgun. She and Mike both know how to shoot, but Mike doesn’t particularly like to - he’s more of a pacifist, and he looks at the guns with a certain unease. Eddie refused to even touch the guns on principle - “They’re  _ dangerous _ !” “That’s kind of the point, Eds.” - and when Richie had made a joke about his twitchy fingers and the likeliness that he would accidentally shoot himself or others, Eddie had taken his arm and physically dragged Richie away from their makeshift gun range.

Mike’s granddad keeps two shotguns and a pistol on his property. Ben is a truly terrible shot, and gives up practicing to go scrounge for other weapons with Richie and Eddie. Bill is passable, and Stan takes a while to line up his aim, but every shot is precise. Beverly nods her approval at them, and takes aim herself, tilting her head slightly. The recoil jolts against her shoulder, but she’s ready for it. The bottle she was aiming at bursts into a shower of glass. Someone claps, and Beverly looks around.

Ben has returned with Richie and Eddie in tow. He smiles at her while he claps. She feels herself redden and looks away, setting down the shotgun and turning to see what the boys had found. Eddie and Richie both hold several large sticks - more like small tree branches, really - and Ben has a bag full of twine, cloth, and kerosene.

“I thought we could make torches,” Ben says, “Tie the clothes to one end of the sticks and then drench them in kerosene. If fire can hurt it, then these should keep us safe.”

Beverly grins at him, “That’s a really good idea,” she says. This time Ben is the one that blushes.

“Fucking disgusting,”  Richie comments, looking between the two of them. Eddie whacks him with his bundle of sticks.

Richie, looking back at Eddie in indignation, drops all but one of his sticks. He holds the remaining stick up like a sword and shouts “En garde!” He brandishes the stick like a fencer and jabs it forward - a good foot away from hitting Eddie - before shuffling backwards on the balls of his feet.

“You are honestly the worst fucking person. I have absolutely no idea why I like you.” Eddie comments, moving forward and snatching the stick out of Richie’s hands.

“Neither do the rest of us.” Stan and Bill had come over from their shooting range, leaving Mike to put the guns away safely. Stan shakes his head at Eddie, “I thought you had promise, Kaspbrak, and then you decide to actually like Richie’s company. I’m seriously reconsidering our friendship.”

“But Stan!” Richie interjects, “Would you truly forsake my love? My undying affection? My raging boner?”

“I would forsake you for a single Dorito, Richie,” Stan replies. Richie leaps forwards and throws his arms around Stan, loudly lamenting his broken heart and unrequited love. Stan tries to shove Richie off, but ends up knocking them both over, and Richie yelps as they hit the grass, not letting Stan go.

Beverly looks between Ben and Eddie and says, “You guys could walk away now, and nobody would ever judge you for it,” in a serious voice. 

“I heard that!” Richie shouts from the ground.

“That was my intention!” Beverly replies. Ben laughs, and Beverly’s stomach flips. She looks back over at Ben. 

“So, let’s get started on those torches.”

-

Mike looks at their scrounged arsenal with pride. In the end, they’d ended up with the three guns, ten kerosene-torches, an assortment of large knives, some hatchets, an ax, and a pitchfork - “We’ve already got the torches!” Richie had exclaimed, “I want a freaking pitchfork! We’re the angry masses off to kill a monster!” - it’s a fairly respectable set of weapons. Mike figures that if they had wounded the monster with improvised tools found on their way to a laundry room, then having honest to god weapons will give them a real advantage.

Ben, Beverly, and Bill had gone to the store to grab some ammo and any other tools they thought might come in handy, leaving Mike, Richie, Stan, and Eddie to organize their current supplies. Seeing as it had taken about ten minutes to sort the arsenal into piles, and even less time to scrounge up some flashlights and extra batteries, they have now been left with nothing to do.

Because they're tired of real life, they decide to make some popcorn, pile onto the too-small couch in Mike’s living room, and watch the most recent episode of Game of Thrones. During the commercials, Richie gives a long-winded speech about why Sansa Stark should be the one to sit on the iron throne, and only stops when Stan and Eddie start shoving excessive amounts of popcorn into his mouth. Mike laughs at their antics (and makes sure that Richie could breathe, because they have enough problems without adding accidental-murder-by-popcorn to the list). It’s really nice, just being themselves instead of a group of people fighting an evil that they can’t hope to understand, and he almost wants to forget the whole thing and just stay on this couch with these people and never face the monster. Almost.

Beverly and the boys return to the house five minutes before the end of the episode, and Stan and Richie shush them so they can finish the show. It’s one of the only things Mike has ever seen them agree upon. When the episode finishes and the end credits begin to play, Beverly clears her throat.

“Can I talk now?” She asks, looking pointedly between Richie and Stan.

“If you must,” Richie replies, waving his hand absently.

“We got ammo for the guns, 20 gauge. That’s the right type, right Mike?” Mike nods his agreement, and she continues. “We’ve got a bunch of lighters. We also got some of those rape whistle things, the ones where you pull the pin and it makes a high-pitched whining noise, for in case we get separated. Everybody gets one, and if you end up on your own you pull the pin.”

Ben moves forward to pass them out, and Richie requests a pink one.

“Also,” Bill adds, “I g-got this,” he holds up a flare gun, and then moves over to set it on the counter next to the shotguns.

“I guess we’re ready then,” Mike says, looking at each of the others in turn. They look uneasy, not exactly scared, but not unafraid either. Eddie clutches at Richie’s hand. Beverly sets her jaw in a hard line. Stan and Ben are both look a bit sick. 

Bill looks down at the table full of weapons. “I guess we are,” He agrees, “L-let’s go kill this fucking monster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I will try to post quicker than this time.
> 
> Comments give me life, clear my skin, and drive away my anxiety.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this will be a multi-chapter fic, which will probably end up being excessively long. I regret my choices already. They are all 18+ years old in this fic, so no yucky pedophilia to worry about, I promise, and I will be making changes to Pennywise as I see fit to benefit the story. Because I can. I've decided to go with the movie adaptation for many of the character traits, like Stan having a Rabbi for a father. I am still incorporating certain aspects from the book/miniseries into this, though, such as Stan's bird fetish. (Fetish? Who said that, I didn't say that.) Also, everyone is gay. Well, actually, 57% of the losers are gay, because I am mad with power.
> 
> Hi yo silver, lets do this shit.


End file.
